The Phantom of Notre Dame
by zoe.grant.927
Summary: Deep inside Notre Dame cathedral, a lonely young man longs to be free, but is kept prisoner by a cruel master who blurs his views of the outside world. But can one gypsy girl change all that? A story of love, dreams and breaking free, the Phantom of Notre Dame.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, readers! This is my new story, The Phantom of Notre Dame, a crossover of the Disney film and film adaption of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. Regarding my previous Anastasia/Percy Jackson fic, I am still working on it, never fear! I just got a little blocked. Anyway, below I have provided a list of who's who in this story. Please read it before starting; I don't want you to be confused! I should probably note that this story is the POTO characters playing out the hunchback storyline, with a few twists. Enjoy!**

 **Erik/the Phantom will be the hunchback. He is not hunchbacked, he will have his full-face deformity.**

 **Christine as Esmerelda. I know, I know, Christine's not a gyspy, but you'll find out later.**

 **Raoul as Pheobus.**

 **Etienne Barye as Frollo. For those of you who don't know who Etienne is, he is a character from Susan Kay's adaption, and the best villain I could decide on.**

 **Father Mansart as the Archedeacon – again, he is a priest from Susan Kay's novel.**

 **Javert as Clopin. Javert will be very OOC in this one, sorry, folks, he was the only gypsy I could think of for Clopin! So he will not be mean and cruel in this one.**

 **Madeline as Erik's mother. She is from Susan Kay's as well.**

 **Madame Giry as herself.**

 **Meg Giry as herself.**

 **The rest will include minor characters from Phantom. The characters will sing in bold, and speak in normal text. Flashbacks will be in italics. This is also set in 1870.**

1870, 6th January, Paris

(Scene opens up on a bird's-eye view of Paris. We can see Notre Dame overhead)

 **Javert: Morning in Paris,**

 **The city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame,**

 **The fisherman fishes; the bakerman bakes,**

 **To the bells of Notre Dame,**

 **To the big bells as loud as thunder,**

 **To the little bells soft as a psalm,**

 **And some say the soul of the city's the toll of the bells**

 **The bells of Notre Dame…**

"Listen, they're beautiful, no? So many colours of sound, so many changing moods! But you know, they don't ring all by themselves." He held up a little miniature puppet of himself to the children he was entertaining. "'They don't?'" he made it say. He laughed, watching the children's faces light up. "No, silly boy. Up there, high, high in the dark bell tower, lives the mysterious bell ringer. Who is this creature? 'Who?' What is he? 'What?' How did he come to be there? 'How?' Hush!" He whacked the puppet's head as the children laughed. "Listen, and Javert will tell you. It is a tale; a tale of man, and a monster…."

 _(The scene changes to twenty years ago.)_

 _Javert:_ _ **Dark was the night when our tale was begun, on the docks near Notre Dame,**_

 _A baby cried as four people rowed a boat across the water. The mother tried to shush it, but no avail. 'Shut it up, will you!' cried its father anxiously._

' _We'll be spotted!' another chimed in._

 _The mother rocked the baby desperately. 'Hush, little one.'_

 _ **Four frightened gypsies slid silently under the docks near Notre Dame,**_

 _ **But a trap had been laid for the gypsies,**_

 _Four soldiers came into view as the gypsies stepped out of the boat and grabbed them._

 _ **And they gazed up in fear and alarm,**_

 _ **At a figure who's clutches were iron as much as the bells,**_

 _ **The bells of Notre Dame**_

 _The gypsies gasped as tall figure came into view on horseback. The baby's mother gasped and clasped her child to her chest. Her husband put an arm protectively round her. 'Minister Barye…' he breathed in astonished fear._

 _Minister Etienne Barye glared at the people in front of him. He straightened himself up. 'Bring these vermin to the prisons,' he sneered._

 _A guard suddenly grabbed the mother. She fought and struggled to protect her child. 'What are you hiding?' he sneered._

' _Stolen goods, no doubt,' Etienne said smoothly. 'Take them from her.'_

 _Grasping her chance, the mother shook free of the guard's arm and took off. Etienne followed suit on horseback, rage gleaming in his eyes. The snow was deep and biting as she ran, desperately hugging her child to her. She ran and jumped over a fence into a small alleyway, hoping it would stop Etienne from getting through. She ran into a courtyard. It was deserted. 'Help!' she screamed. 'Please, shelter! Give me shelter, I beg you!'_

 _Etienne's horse burst through another passageway. She gasped and turned. The snow was falling deep and the baby was crying in fear. Finally, she came to a large open space. And it was there she found an answer._

 _She ran to the doors and banged as hard as she could, the wood making hollow thuds. 'Sanctuary, please, give us sanctuary!' Before she knew it, she was thrown to the ground. Etienne had the child! She struggled to make a fight, but one last throw and her dead body was lying sprawled across the steps of Notre Dame. Etienne unfurled the crying bundle. 'A baby…' He mused and unwrapped the folds covering it. He gasped as soon as he did. 'A monster!'_

 _He looked around for a way to dispose of the child. That horrible, malformed face… he had to get rid of it! Then, he spotted the well a few paces away. His chance…_

 _He walked over, raised the bundle and…_

' _Stop!' The Archdeacon, Father Mansart, came running out of the chapel. Etienne turned and glared._

' _Don't interfere,' he said. 'This is a demon and it needs to be gotten rid of.'_

' _You will not touch it!' the Archedeacon cried. 'It is a human being!'_

' _It is not!' Etienne shoved the bundle in the priest's arms. 'Look at it! It's not even human! That face cannot be anything good!'_

 _The plump little priest sighed and cradled the child. 'Perhaps… perhaps it is not what we perceive at frist sight is what we should be reasoning,' He looked over at the body of the mother, knelt and held her head._

 _ **Father Mansart: See there the innocent blood you have spilt, on the steps of Notre Dame,**_

' _I am guitless,' Etienne said, looking away._

 _ **Father Mansart: Now you add this child's blood to your guilt,**_

 _ **On the steps of Notre Dame?**_

 _Etienne fumed. 'My conscious is clear!'_

 _ **Father Mansart: You can lie to yourself and your minions,**_

 _ **You can claim that you haven't a quam,**_

 _ **But you'll never can run from nor hide what you've done from the eyes,**_

 _ **The very eyes of Notre Dame!**_

 _ **Javert: And for one time in his life, a power and control,**_

 _ **Etienne felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul….**_

 _Etienne felt a shudder run through him. 'What should I do?'_

' _Care for the child, and raise it as your own,' Father Mansart said._

' _What?!' Etienne snapped. 'I'm to be saddled with this misshapen-' He sighed. 'Very well. But let him live with you, in your church.'_

 _Father Mansart looked up quizzically at the tall building. No place for a child… 'Live here? Where?'_

' _Anywhere,' Etienne seethed._

 _ **Etienne: Just so he's kept locked away where no one else can see,**_

' _The bell tower, perhaps. Who knows, our Lord works in mysterious ways.'_

 _ **Etienne: Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be,**_

 _ **Of use… to me**_

' _What will you name the child?' Father Mansart mused as Etienne climbed onto his horse._

' _Me?' Etienne snapped. 'That foul child is too ugly, no name would suit! You choose, you old fool!'_

 _He rode off out of sight, bringing up snow behind him. Father Mansart sighed and brought the child into the warmth of the church, climbed the stairs and settled him in a pile of clothes in the bell tower. A small fire crackled to keep the child warm. He sat down and stared at the little misshapen face. 'Poor thing…' he sighed in pity. 'Etienne doesn't know what he's done. I promise, child, I will shield you from him as much as I can.' The baby burbled and smiled. 'I'll call you after myself, then.' He picked up the child and rocked it. 'Erik.'_

 _ **Javert: So here is a riddle, to guess if you can, sing the bells of Notre Dame,**_

 _ **Who is the monster and who is the man?**_

 _ **Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,**_

 _ **Bells of Notre Dame!**_

(Back to 1870. Erik is grown up, twenty years old.)

Erik walked out into the sunshine, the sunlight reflecting off his face. He smiled down at the square below. This was it…

He smiled as the nest nest to him shuffled, and the small, grey bird popped its head out. 'Good morning,' Erik greeted. 'Ready to fly today?'

The bird seemed to shy away. Erik gently picked it up. 'Really? It's a good day to try. If I was going to fly, this would be it! The Festival of Fools!' He stroked the little head. 'Go on. No one wants to stay here forever.'

He opened his hands, and the bird flitted off into the day. Erik sighed and retreated back into the shadows of the bell tower. If only he could fly away… leave this place. He smoothed old his sheets of music, the notes carefully written. Music was his only escape from this world, the only thing that gave him joy. He could lose himself in it, be free…

'Erik?' Erik jumped. Not Etienne….

He quickly stashed his sheets away. 'Yes?'

Father Mansart hobbled up the stairs. Erik sighed in relief, then ran to help him. 'Thank you, lad,' Father Mansart muttered, setlling himself down.

'I thought you were him,' Erik said.

'Ah… Etienne is out,' Father Mansart said. 'Don't worry, boy. He shouldn't be back just yet. How is your music?'

Erik sighed and pulled out his latest work. Father Mansart studied it. 'Hmm… interesting.'

'Yes, but…' Erik sighed. 'I don't know. I just can't find the words. And it's my best piece yet. Like something's…. missing.'

Father Mansart smiled. 'Your gift is truly something. You will find your inspiration, my boy, don't worry.' He looked at Erik with a sad smile. Poor child… Etienne had never let him outside the chapel and was adamant on keeping it that way. 'What is the trouble?'

'It's just…' Erik started, but then shook his head. 'It's silly. I musn't.'

'Come now, it's only old Father Mansart you're speaking to,' Father Mansart said kindly. 'I won't tell a soul.'

Erik sighed and sat down beside Father Mansart. 'It's just I want so bad to see the festival. And not from above… to be in it! With… people.'

Father Mansart felt a twinge of guilt. The poor boy…. He had no idea people would be so cruel. His face – it just wouldn't be accepted there. He'd be ridiculed. He put a hand on Erik's shoulder. 'I know, Erik. You really want this, don't you?'

'More than anything,' Erik said dreamily. 'Why… why won't Master Barye let me outside? Well, I mean, I know why, but why is it so bad? Why do I have to be some sort of monster?' His temper churned and started to rise up as angry tears formed in his eyes. 'No one else is like me!' He threw his music sheet away in anger. 'It's not fair…'

'I know, my boy,' Father Mansart said. 'But let me tell you something; just because you don't look like everyone else doesn't matter. It's what's inside you.'

'Master says I'm still a monster,' Erik grumbled. 'And I am – look at me, Father Mansart!'

Father Mansart sighed in defeat. 'You're only one if you think so,' he said. 'It's your decision who you are.'

The door creaked. They heard footsteps climbing the stairs. 'Oh no,' Erik said panicking. He quickly stashed away his music. 'He's here.'

There was a heart-stopping moment as the footsteps stopped. Then, the shadow of Etienne appeared. He climbed up the stairs slowly and purposefully, and when he reached the top gave them both a small smile. 'Ah, Father Mansart,' he said. 'Up in the bell tower in daylight hours? Surely your church needs attending to.'

'I am never to busy to visit the boy,' Father Mansart said slowly.

'I see,' Etienne said, looking at Erik. 'Demanding attention from the Archdeacon, are we, Erik?'

erik's eyes widened. 'N-no, sir, of course not,'

'Come now, Etienne,' Father Mansart reasoned. 'The boy is lonely.'

'I doubt you are a mind-reader, Mansart, so therefore you cannot possibly know the boy's feelings,' Etienne said coldly. 'He is not "lonely".'

'Etienne, really-'

'That will do,' Etienne said. 'Don't you have a Mass to prepare for?'

Father Mansart gave Erik an apologetic look. 'Yes, Minister,' he said, and headed down the stairs.

'Now,' Etienne said briskly. 'I've brought lunch.'

'Oh, thank you, Master,' Erik said, bringing out Etienne's silver goblet and plate and his wooden plate and cup. They sat down at the small table, and Etienne poured out watered-down wine into the cups, and set bread on the plates. 'Shall we review your alphabet?'

'Yes, Master,' Erik said.

'Very well,' Etienne said. 'A?'

'Abomination,' Erik said, not missing a beat.

'B?'

'Blasphemy.'

'C?'

'Contrition.'

'Good,' Etienne mused. 'D?'

'Damnation.'

'E?'

'Eternal damnation.'

'F?'

'Festival,' Erik immediately regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

'What?' Etienne said dangerously.

Erik tried to cover it up, but he couldn't think anymore. 'I…'

'You were thinking about going to the festival, weren't you?' Etienne said.

'It's just that you go every year,' Erik said nervously.

Etienne stood up. Erik waited for the blow that was to follow, but it didn't come. 'Erik, I am a public official, I must go. But I do not enjoy it!'

'I am sorry,' Erik hastily followed him. 'I hope I have not upset you, Master.'

They walked out onto the vast balcony. The city of Paris lay ahead in all its glory. 'You don't know what it's like,' Etienne said. 'I do, Erik. I do.'

 **Etienne: The world is cruel,**

 **The world is wicked,**

 **It's I alone that you can trust in this whole city,**

 **I am your only friend,**

 **I who keep you, teach you, feed you, dress you**

 **I who look upon you without fear,**

 **How can I protect you boy,**

 **Unless you always stay in here?**

 **Away in here….**

 **You are deformed,**

 **Erik: I am deformed,**

 **Etienne: And you are ugly,**

 **Erik: And I am ugly,**

 **Etienne: And these are crimes for which the world shows little pity!**

 **You do not comprehend,**

 **Erik: You are my one defender,**

 **Etienne: Out there they'll revile you as a monster,**

 **Erik: I am a monster,**

 **Etienne: Out there they will hate and scorn and jeer,**

 **Erik: Only a monster,**

 **Etienne: Why invite their calamy and consternation?**

 **Stay in here!**

 **Be faithful to me,**

 **Erik: I'm faithful,**

 **Etienne: Grateful to me**

 **Erik: I'm grateful,**

 **Etienne: Do as I say,**

 **Obey,**

 **And stay in here...**

'You are good to me,' Erik said, lowering his head. 'I am sorry. I won't ask again.'

'You are forgiven,' Etienne said stiffly. 'But remember, Erik, this is your sanctuary.'

Erik thought as he walked away, out of sight. 'My sanctuary,'

 **Erik: Safe behind these windows and these parapets of stone,**

 **Gazing at the people down below me,**

 **All my life I watch them as I hide up here alone,**

 **Hungry for the histories they show me,**

 **All my life I've memorized their faces,**

 **Knowing them as they will never know me,**

 **All my life I wonder how it feels to pass a day,**

 **Not above them,**

 **But part of them!**

 **And out there, living in the sun,**

 **Give me one day out there,**

 **All I ask is one**

 **To hold forever,**

 **Out there,**

 **Where they all live unaware,**

 **What I'd give,**

 **What I'd dare,**

 **Just to live one day out there!**

 **Out there among the merchants and the bakers and their wives,**

 **Through the roofs and gables I can see them,**

 **Everu day they shout and scold and go about their lives,**

 **Heedless of the gift it is to be them,**

 **If I was in their skin,**

 **I'd treasure**

 **Every instant,**

 **Out there, strolling by the Seine,**

 **Give me one day out there,**

 **Like ordinary me,**

 **Who freely walk about there,**

 **Just one day and then I swear I'll be content,**

 **With my share,**

 **Won't resent,**

 **Won't despair,**

 **Old and bent, I won't care,**

 **I'll have spent one day out there**


	2. Chapter 2

Erik leaned over the balcony, watching the festivities begin to be set up – the banners, tents, the stage in the middle, draped with silks for curtains and twining vines of flowers wrapped around the poles supporting it. People flocked around in beautiful masks and costumes, a flurry of glitter and velvet sweeping the square into colour.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Erik jumped, then turned to see it was only Father Mansart. He smiled in relief. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'Look at them all – the one day we get to be free.' He sighed and paused, looking down at the stone of the balcony. 'Well… most of us.'

Father Mansart patted the boy on the shoulder. 'Don't despair, my boy. Maybe one day-'

'What? I'll go?' Erik said bitterly. 'Etienne – he'd never allow it; I couldn't possibly ask…'

'Who said you had to ask him?' Father Mansart said, a twinkle lighting up his eye.

Erik's eyes widened. 'You mean… sneak out?' He shook his head rapidly. 'Father Mansart, I could never do it – what if I got caught?!' He began to panic. 'Etienne would keep me up here forever!'

Father Mansart frowned, and looked at Erik. 'My boy, he's already got there. Please, for me. You cannot spend your days watching your life go by.'

Erik turned away. 'You know there's nothing I can do about it.' He pointed at his face. 'I'm a _monster_ , remember?' He spat out the word like it was poison.

'No, you're not,' Father Mansart said, 'you know you're not.'

'But they'll see me, they'll run,' Erik said in despair. 'I can't do it!'

Father Mansart paused, then smiled. 'You know, I may have a solution.'

Erik looked at him in confusion. 'What do you mean?'

Father Mansart shuffled over to the corner, and opened a chest. Erik watched as he ruffled through the contents, then, finally, lifted out a plain white mask. He held it up to him. 'There. This just might work. After all, it is a masquerade.'

Erik cautiously put the mask over his face, tying the straps at the back. The leather felt cool against his face. 'You… you think this will work?'

'I am sure,' Father Mansart said. Then his paused, and looked Erik in the eye. 'But it is your choice.'

Erik ran his hand over the mask. He turned and looked at the square, the festival. His dream was a mere breath away… could he do it? Just this once – it couldn't hurt, could it? If Etienne never found out he would be fine… He turned to Father Mansart. 'Alright. I'll go.'

 **Raoul's P.O.V.**

Raoul de Chagny was in no way a cowardly man, but if he was being completely honest, Minister Etienne Bayre made him want to go running straight back home and cower behind his curtains. He was quite possibly the most intimidating man he had ever met – the dark, sharp eyes, tall stance, the cold glare he would shoot people on the street if they dared look his way; and not to mention he was also this Minister of Justice, with the Gendarme at his beck and call, and could therefore arrest even the likes of him.

'You know why I have brought you here, monsieur?' Raoul was shook out of his thoughts at Minister Bayre's voice. He straightened up quickly. 'Well… no, sir, not exactly.'

'Then allow me to educate you,' Minister Bayre continued. 'I am a powerful man, as are you, Monsieur de Chagny. And therefore you and I have certain duties concerning the people of Paris. I am worried that our city is beginning to be… corrupted.'

'I don't quite understand,' Raoul said slowly.

Minister Bayre led him over to the window. 'Tell me what you see.'

Raoul cautiously peered out. It was just the square, the festival was being set up… what was he supposed to be seeing? 'I see the festival, sir.'

'Very observant monsieur, but I was referring to our little thieving friends.' Minister Bayre gestured to a group of people dressed brightly in scarves and jewellery, smiling at passers-by and dancing. Gypsies. 'Disgusting. Polluting the city with their tarot cards and spells… luring the people into laziness and tricks.' He turned to Raoul. 'You see know why I called you here.'

'But, sir, the gypsies are harmless-' Raoul started, but he was cut off.

'Harmless?' Minister Bayre seethed, his face red. 'They have been corrupting the city for years and I am sick of it, monsieur! Oh yes, at first they were ignored, simply a street trick for drunks and fools, but they have gained popularity and that is not good. Soon morals will plummet, church attendance will go down, the people will become idle and sinful – carnage, monsieur de Chagny!' He took a breath, and the rage in him simmered down. He looked at Raoul. 'Monsieur, I believe if these gypsies continue any further there will be disaster. There have been rumours of a safe haven they have somewhere between Notre Dame and your Opera House – we must find it and run them out. I am therefore giving you permission to arrest any gyspy on sight and put an end to their tyranny. I have a duty to rid the city of this scum, and you will help me. Do I make myself perfectly clear?'

'Yes,' Raoul gulped, trying to stop himself shaking. Good God, the man was insane...

Minister Bayre smiled, and patted him on the back. 'Good man.' He paused. 'Tell me, have you ever attended a festival?'

'Not recently,' Raoul answered.

'Then you should enjoy this. Come along, monsieur.'

 **Erik's P.O.V.**

Erik ran through the crowds, slightly shaking. He adjusted his mask so it wouldn't fall off, and hugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this…

'Watch out!' He was shook out of his thoughts too late and felt himself collide with someone, and they were both thrown to the ground. 'I'm so sorry – I didn't see you… let me help you up!' he stuttered, and reached out a hand.

'It's alright, I wasn't looking,' the person said, taking his hand and he pulled them up. 'Are you alright?'

'Yes, I'm-' Erik trailed off as he saw her face, dumbstruck. Dear God, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen… brown eyes that shone, hair like copper falling in gentle waves around her face, her kind smile holding him transfixed… She was wearing a white angel costume, and her face was speckled with silver paint, illuminating her eyes. He was at a loss for words.

'Are you alright… sir?' she asked again, looking concerned. 'Oh god, you haven't hit your head, have you – I'm so sorry, maybe you want to sit down?'

Erik shook himself, 'no it's okay, I'm alright. I'm sorry I startled you…'

'It's alright,' the girl said, relieved, 'I'm just glad you are okay.' A shout echoed across the square and she turned at the sound. 'I have to go – maybe I will see you later?' And she ran off.

Erik smiled to himself, watching until she disappeared from sight. He felt all warm and full inside… what on earth was that feeling?

Suddenly, a rumble of feet came from one of the back streets, and the crowd grew silent. Erik turned to face the sound, and was met with a parade of people in masks dancing into the square in costumes and waving banners, led by a man in a colourful jester's suit.

 **All:**

 **Masquerade, paper faces on parade!**

 **Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you!**

 **Masquerade, every face a different shade,**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Look around, there's another mask behind you!**

 **Flash of mauve,**

 **Splash of puce,**

 **Fool and king,**

 **Ghoul and goose,**

 **Q** **Green and black,**

 **Queen and priest,**

 **Trace of rouge,**

 **Face of beast,**

 **Faces!**

 **Take your turn, take a ride**

 **On the merry-go-round,**

 **Of an inhuman race**

 **Eye of gold,**

 **Thigh of blue,**

 **True is false,**

 **Who is who?**

 **Faces!**

 **Drink it in,**

 **Drink it up,**

 **Til you drown,**

 **In the lights, in the sound,**

 **Javert: But who can name the face?**

 **All:**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Grinning yellows,**

 **Spinning reds,**

 **Masquerade,**

 **Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Burning glances, turning heads,**

 **Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Leering satyrs,**

 **Peering eyes,**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Run and hide**

 **But a face will still pursue you**

 **Javert: What a day!**

 **What a crowd!**

 **Makes you glad, makes you proud,**

 **All the crème de la crème,**

 **Watching us watching them,**

 **And all our fears in the past!**

 **One day,**

 **Of relief,**

 **Of delight!**

 **And we can breathe at last!**

 **No more work,**

 **No more ghosts,**

 **Here's a health,**

 **Here's a toast,**

 **To the brand new year,**

 **To the friends who are here,**

 **And may our splendour never fail,**

 **And what a masquerade!**

 **All:**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Paper faces on parade,**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Hide your face so the world will never find you!**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Ever face a different shade,**

 **Look around there's another mask behind you**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Burning glances turning heads**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you**

 **Masquerade!**

 **Grinning yellows spinning reds**

 **Take your fill**

 **Let the spectacle astound you**

The music came to a stop with a great thunder, and the man leading them smiled at the crowd. 'Well, are we having fun?' he shouted, and the crowd shouted back happily. 'And you all know what's next…' Some people in the crowd grinned and nudged each other. Javert held out his hands and shouted, 'time to crown the king or queen of the masquerade!'

Before Erik knew it, he was being jostled to the stage as people ran to get as close as they could. He spotted the girl, smiling as various men and women climbed onto the stage, revealing their masks and pulling ugly faces, but earning boos from the crowd. Suddenly, he felt an arm grasp him. The girl was pulling him to the stage. He realized with horror what was happening. 'No… I don't-' he protested, but she smiled. 'It will be fun!'

But he couldn't stop it. Before he knew it, he was on the stage, facing the crowd, jeering and laughing in their drunken stupor. He tried to move, but then a hand flashed by him and he felt a tug and cool air on his face.

The crowd went silent. Their faces were filled with fear and shock. The girl was standing beside him, looking confused and guilty. 'It's horrible!' one woman shouted. 'Get him off the stage!' another man yelled, 'there's children here, for God's sake!' Erik felt his face burn in shame.

Javert stepped forward, holding his hands out in protest. 'Friends, don't worry!' he said nervously, then looked at Erik and put on a grin. 'We asked for the ugliest face in Paris; here he is! The King of the masque!'

The crowd slowly began to cheer, Javert urging them on. Erik was confused and shocked – minutes ago they had been terrified of him, and now?! They were cheering his name! He was paraded through the square, a paper crown placed on his head, as the men lifted him onto their shoulders, and he let himself smile. Was this really happening? They liked him?

He spotted the girl running along beside the crowd, trying to fight her way to the front. To his surprise, she looked worried. She was shouting something to him, but he couldn't hear. Was something wrong?

Suddenly, he felt himself thrown to the ground. He reeled at the pain in his head. What was going on? He felt arms grab him, and suddenly he was being dragged to two lampposts. He heard the girl shouting, her voice filled with fear. He was tied between the lampposts with thick, heavy ropes, and he panicked. This wasn't right – why were they doing this?! He struggled and strained, only to be pelted in the face with rotten vegetables and fruit. The girl was shouting, he could see her pushing through the crowd as the debris rained down on him. Finally, she got to him and stood in front of him like a human shield. 'Stop!' she yelled, 'Please, we are better than this!'

'Move!' an angry man shouted, and something sharp and metal flung through the air, and scraped the girl's arm. She gasped in pain as a dot of blood formed above her elbow. Erik felt an anger boil inside him. 'Leave her alone!' He strained at the ropes. 'Hold on,' the girl said, and fumbled in her pocket. Finally, she pulled out a dagger. 'Hold still-'

'WHAT IS GOING ON?!' a voice bellowed through the square, and the crowd stopped immediately. The girl gasped in horror. The people parted, and Erik strained to see. Then, a figure on horseback made its way in, flanked by guards and a man.

'Make way for Minister Bayre!' a guard shouted.

Erik felt his heart drop. Etienne...

'What is going on here?' Etienne seethed. 'I demand to know!' His gaze landed on Erik, and his stare hardened. He pointed at the girl. 'Step aside!'

'Not until you let me free him, your grace,' the girl said.

'You will do no such thing,' Etienne said threateningly. 'Gypsies know nothing of mercy nor are they permitted in this society whilst I am Minister of Justice. I shall protect the people of Paris from your sins one way or another and you cannot stop me. Now, move!'

'No!' the girl said, and Erik was shocked by her boldness. 'You speak of justice, and yet you are cruel to those most in need!'

'Enough,' Etienne said, eyes glistening with rage.

'You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people,' the girl continued on. 'If the poor were given mercy then it would not be from you, who only seeks to keep his reputation in favour of the church!'

'Silence, you idle witch!' Etienne snapped. 'By God I will have you hanged if you speak another word!'

'Justice!' the girl said, and sliced through the ropes with her dagger. The crowd gasped. She turned to Erik. 'Run, I'll distract them!' And she disappeared into the crowd. Etienne raged, 'Get her!' He turned to the man beside him. 'Monsieur de Chagny, arrest that gypsy and any others you find! The rest of you, seal off the square!'

Fear gripping him, Erik ran, making his way to the church. He hoped Etienne would stay outside long enough to get to the bell tower. He pushed the doors open, and ran inside. Father Mansart looked up, startled. 'Erik, what's happened?'

'Etienne… he knows,' Erik panted. 'And there was a girl and she saved me; Father Mansart, it's my fault now he's after her – I don't know what to do….' He buried his face in his hands.

Father Mansart put an arm round him. 'There, there… Calm down, boy. I'm sure she will be alright.'

'You don't understand, she's…' Erik gulped. 'She's one of them, Etienne hates them!'

'A gypsy.' Father Mansart looked down in sadness. 'Oh dear. That poor girl…'


End file.
